Under the flickering silhouettes, Zhu Shiqing felt as if he were sitting on pins and needles. In his mind, those brigade and division commanders had always been solemn and dignified, yet here they were, "putting on street performances" on the spot just to strike back!
Looking closely, the table where the chief leaders sat was also locked in a contest of wills. Kawabe Masakazu was clapping and cheering for his men, while Feng Zhian glanced over at Li Wentian, deputy commander of the 38th Division at the neighboring table. Catching his meaning, Li charged out from his seat and strode right up in front of the line of dancing Japanese officers.
He belted out a booming, aggressive Peking opera aria in the fierce heitou painted-face style, his thunderous voice forcing several Japanese back step by step.
On the other side of the hall, three or four Japanese officers began demonstrating karate, and nearby Chinese officers immediately leapt forward to counter them with Chinese martial arts.
In this manner, the already rowdy banquet spiraled completely out of hand, erupting into chaos from every corner, until the rivalry inevitably spread to the head table.
The Japanese chief of staff, Hashimoto Gun, who was also an old China hand, challenged Tong Linge to a contest of Chinese calligraphy, aiming to defeat the Chinese on the ground of their own culture.
Tong Linge naturally had no intention of declining. He ordered brush, ink, and paper brought over, and Hashimoto began his display. Chinese and Japanese officers with nothing else to do crowded around, and Zhu Shiqing naturally followed suit.
Watching Hashimoto write Chinese calligraphy at close range, Zhu Shiqing felt a slight quiver in his chest. The culture passed down by their ancestors had truly been mastered by these Easterners. Hashimoto's brushwork was indeed impressive—arguably far superior to that of many self-styled Chinese calligraphers.
It seemed the finest fruits of Chinese civilization had long been thoroughly penetrated by them!
The surrounding Japanese cheered in succession while the Chinese remained silent. Hashimoto finished writing, tossed the brush aside, and demanded loudly in Chinese, "Deputy Army Commander Tong, is there anyone in your army whose calligraphy can match mine?"
"I will."
A deep, resonant voice came from behind the crowd. Everyone parted to make way. Zhu Shiqing looked closely and saw none other than the old warlord chieftain Wu Peifu walking toward them!
Wu Peifu's calligraphy was renowned throughout the country; Zhu Shiqing had heard about it back when he was studying under his traditional private school teacher. For this banquet, precisely because Song Zheyuan was away, Tong Linge had specially invited Wu Peifu to help entertain the guests. Who would have thought he would prove so useful at a moment like this?
Taking the brush, Wu Peifu leaned forward slightly and dashed off a set of "drunken strokes" with effortless flair. His strokes were magnificent and supernatural in their mastery, their sweeping, dragon-like flourishes prompting the surrounding Chinese soldiers to burst into loud song, leaving Hashimoto utterly flabbergasted.
The Japanese onlookers were displeased. To regain their momentum, they swarmed forward, hoisted Qin Dechun and Tong Linge into the air all at once, and chanting in cadence, tossed them up toward the ceiling.
Seeing this, how could the Chinese brigade and regimental commanders tolerate such an indignity? They surged forward as well, hoisted Kawabe Masakazu and Hashimoto Gun into the air, and threw them even higher!
From merely watching on the sidelines at first, Zhu Shiqing had now completely melted into the boisterous atmosphere, joining the crowd tossing Kawabe Masakazu. And each time Kawabe came down, Zhu stealthily positioned his fist right where Kawabe's lower back would land.
Kawabe Masakazu was jabbed so hard by the fist below that he winced in agony...
At the height of the frenzy, several impatient Japanese officers even drew their swords. Li Zhiyuan, commander of the Chinese 26th Brigade, called for an orderly to bring him a willow-leaf saber forged from the finest steel, unleashed a sequence of rolling-blade saber routines he had learned in his teens, and sheared a Japanese officer's saber in two with a single strike!
In the end, the banquet produced no real bloodshed or casualties, though by the time it drew to a close, many brigade and regimental commanders were utterly exhausted.
The Japanese representatives also departed one after another. Thanks to Tong Linge's banquet, Kawabe Masakazu brought up the Lijiatun incident no further, while behind the scenes of the feast, both sides were feverishly making their military dispositions.
Late that night, on the road back to Wanping, the other officers had their own dedicated cars, leaving Zhu Shiqing to share a ride with Feng Zhian.
It had been half a month since he arrived in Beiping-Tianjin. Zhu Shiqing once again gazed at the North China scenery along the road at night. Flickering lights dotted the distance near and far; between Wanping and Beiping, the encampments of the 29th Army and the Japanese forces crisscrossed one another.
"Zhu Shiqing, how do you like it here in the 29th Army?"
With the night breeze blowing and the effects of the banquet's alcohol having mostly worn off, Feng Zhian suddenly remembered the night Zhu Shiqing had first arrived. Song Zheyuan had been deeply dissatisfied with Nanjing's arrangement, viewing Zhu Shiqing's arrival as an attempt to tie their hands.
Reflecting on the experiences of the past half month, Zhu Shiqing replied slowly, "Coming to the 29th Army, I found a sense of home, witnessed the bloody brutality of the battlefield, and came to understand how hard things truly are for the soldiers of the Northwest Army."
"I heard that rascal Sun Yi say you commanded the battle at Lijiatun. You fought well." With a click, Feng Zhian lit a cigarette, brought it to his lips, took half a drag, and said.
Feeling somewhat abashed, Zhu Shiqing replied, "It was because the Northwest Army soldiers fought bravely. It was my first time planning a deployment, and I failed to consider many aspects thoroughly, leading to unnecessary casualties among our men. We also killed several Japanese, causing all of you commanders so much trouble."
"The soldiers of the Northwest Army are the best soldiers there are." Sitting in the passenger seat, Feng Zhian leaned back slightly, reclining against the seat, his gaze drifting out toward the fleeting darkness outside. "You're a fine young man as well. Our land is lost, and we swallow humiliation before the enemy—the blame doesn't lie with you, but with us, the commanders."
Zhu Shiqing hesitated for a moment before offering consoling words: "The situation in North China is complicated. It isn't something Division Commander alone can decide. You shouldn't blame yourself too much, sir."
Feng Zhian gave a soft, bitter laugh. A few tears trickled down his cheeks, and his voice choked up slightly: "I only hope North China won't become another Northeast, and that we won't go down as criminals in history."
With that, Feng Zhian drew in the last of the smoke, only to cough violently several times from the choke. It took him a good while to recover, during which he quietly wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes.
"Damn it, took too hard a drag, fuck."
Zhu Shiqing had naturally noticed this detail. He could feel the suffocating weight pressed upon them from the outside world. At present, China had yet to forge a unified consensus. Everyone took tentative steps, unsure of where to go, while the war between China and Japan remained a constant topic on people's lips.
Yet whether they could win, and whether it was worth fighting, was a cry no one had yet dared to raise.
"Division Commander Feng, the General Staff in Nanjing is following the situation in Beiping-Tianjin very closely. Before coming here, I agreed with Chief Ming to submit a report to the General Staff once every half month..."
Shifting closer toward Feng Zhian, Zhu Shiqing patted his back while speaking his request in a low voice.
Feng Zhian fell silent for a long moment, but eventually said, "It hasn't been easy on you either. Sun's regiment isn't equipped with a radio. If you need it in the future, just come to division headquarters to send your transmissions."
"Thank you, Division Commander."
Zhu Shiqing expressed his gratitude. In truth, he hadn't expected Feng Zhian to agree so readily. After all, if certain internal matters of the Northwest Army became known to Nanjing, the central government would have ample justification to send troops and intervene in North China—something Song Zheyuan was loath to see. Yet on this critical issue, Feng Zhian had relented.
"Zhu Shiqing, I know you belong to the central government." Feng Zhian composed his emotions. "But you must know, I, Feng Zhian, also consider you a brother of the Northwest Army."
Zhu Shiqing nodded respectfully, his eyes glistening slightly, and replied, "Zhu Shiqing will always remember Division Commander's kindness."
Chapter 43